“She made a mistake, G. She absolutely did. There is no doubt about it.”
I had an appointment with my psychologist this morning. I didn’t want to talk about K. I really didn’t. That whole issue has been taking up too much of my mind and my emotional reserve this week. I talked about it enough and I want to move past it. I want it to “just be.”
But she brought her up. We were talking about my family, my relationships, and how events from my past have affected how I interpret and interact with these people. Isn’t it funny how psychologists just know what to say and when to say it? There was a moment of silence, I looked down at the floor, and then she just said her name. And that was it. She said it like she was about to make a comment that related to her in some way but then she trailed off. I’ll never know if she stopped talking because she intended to drift off, or if she stopped because she saw the distressed expression come across my face. Regardless, I had to talk about it.
She didn’t seem shocked. She knew what I was going to say before I said it… but she made me say it anyway. She made me re-live it again. It was her way of making me realize what I already knew, and what I didn’t want to accept, and (likely) the real reason I didn’t want to talk about her. K had made a mistake; and not only that, but she realized that she made a mistake.
No, the mistake was not pushing back against my efforts of support and friendship. Her mistake was made a long time ago – maybe in March when the match happened, or maybe last October, when she invited me to her splurge group, or maybe even before that, when we started having play-dates with our kids. Her mistake, from the very beginning, was letting that boundary between us soften, and smear, and eventually lay tattered far behind us in the distance. It was a mistake because it probably should have never happened – at least not to the extent that it has. My psychologist knew it was a mistake from the first time I mentioned my friendship with K, and today she finally had the opportunity to slam that reality hard at me.
She’s not the only one who made a mistake, though. I should have never pushed her the way I did. I pushed her from the very beginning: from the time I started shadowing her, to the time I started being her secret friend, to the time I asked her to be my mentor, and even beyond that. I enjoy(ed) her. She was like me and I saw myself in her and I knew that if it wasn’t for that boundary, we could really be good friends. So I pushed, and I think she saw the same things I saw. And because of that, she weakened a little bit and let that boundary come down just a bit. Then a little bit more… and more…
I am flattered that she saw in me what I saw in her. I am thankful that the boundaries dropped because she wanted them to. I am grateful for the time that we have been good friends and for all the adventures we have shared in that time. Regardless, I am a little regretful that I pushed so hard. I regret that I put her in that position, and I regret that I continued to push until she had no choice but to force that boundary back into place.
I should have respected the re-establishment that took place. But I made yet another mistake, and I let emotion get in the way. I pushed against her again, and this time there was no bending. You should never make the same mistake twice, they say.